Procrastinathing His Hair
by EwokPoet
Summary: This is exactly what happens when a certain exhaust port vulnerability is exploited two decades earlier...


Droopy McCool burped out loud. Admiral Droopy McCool, out of all possible beings on the Imperial Starsey Sparkley Bongo _Guardian LXVI_! Shock horror, shock horror, shock horror and more shock horror! A supernova of nothing but rays of pure shock shook the delicate skulls of Boss Whatever Tarkin and Princess Firmus Piett. Poor Jerjerrod couldn't afford being shocked – he was now a roba with a curly little tail, and any stress would have clogged his blood vessels to the point where he was in high risk of a fatal stroke.

This business of burping was highly unusual. McCool was not eating much and burping was a rare occurrence in his past career as a musician, thus seemingly more unusual now that he was in command of an Imperial Starsey Sparkley Bongo. And he was more or less annoyed with the fact that he was not able to burp on demand in the said past, as that would have contributed to his overall stage persona.

"I thought we were professionals!" Princess Piett shook his head, heavy under the pressure of two enormous hair extensions shaped to look like pastry. "That is what we had studied on Carida for!" He looked at his own reflection in the nearby mirror. "Then again, with these 'fresher bowls placed around instead of actual seats, one can't resist but…"

"Professionals? That is what we were, yes, until that wermo over there-" Tarkin pointed to captain Binks "-blew up the Death Star in early stages of its build. He also managed to get rid of the Sith lords. So, now we're fighting a very strange war."

"A war?" Piett put both hands on his mouth. "I thought this was an opera! Wasn't Darth Vader meant to come and guest star as himself?"

"Mesa mooie mooie sorry, boie!" Binks shrugged and grinned, in a manner otherwise seen only in minor government officials on Sacorria. "My wanten sticken tongue into conservator...of course! There besa scalefish! Doo, ree, mee…"

"That was NOT a conservator! It was the most vulnerable part of the system. Have you ever heard of exhaust ports?" Tarkin removed the thin slices of Endorian cucumber from underneath his eyes, rolled them and placed them inside of his ears, clearly irritated by Binks' squealing. "Ouch, my ear drum! Binks, I will deal with you soon enough, I swear!"

"Yesa! Mesa always exhausten when spaken to yousa, at the port!" Binks sighed. "And then, this time, mesa been mooie exhausted and Vader went asplode…likey…kablamo! Boopjak!" He sat down, cradling his head in his long ears. "Mesa meanen…Death Star besa nova, mesa captain of new bongo!"

"If the one we're missing here is Vader, then how come I am the princess?" Piett was concerned. "I thought there were no princesses in this story. Also, Tarkin…the towel on your head is about to fall off. Space is cold, you know? You don't want to risk acute facial nerve paralysis!"

McCool nodded. "There is a princess of some planet, the name of which begins with an A. But since we have no proper maps, given that Jerjerrod ate them after he was transformed him into a roba…the only "A" planet we are aware of is Axxila. Your homeworld, Princess Piett!"

Princess Piett ran out of arguments. In some other world, he could have been an admiral. But in this world, his destiny has bestowed a far more graceful role upon him. Who was he to argue?

"So, captain Binks, what planet are we going to fish on next?"

Binks' tongue pointed to the yellow dot on the lower right edge of the starfield visible through their viewport.

"That's Gamorr! I'm out of here, really!" Tarkin was furious. "The last time we were there, so many suspicious-looking local individuals were lusting over Jerjerrod. We had to dress him up in a pair of chastity robapanties!"

"Oink!" The roba squeaked its way to the first available 'fresher-seat. Only its little curly tail and stubby hind legs remained sticking out of the bowl. Poor Jerjerrod. Poor, poor Jerjerrod.

"Do you see it, captain Binks?" Princess Piett's tone was getting more and more judgmental with every next reply. "Your rhetoric upset poor Jerjerrod again! The poor thing will need even more stents! And it already has twelve of them!"

"Mesa mooie sorry, Boss Tarkin! Wesa playen on some other planet…for example, this one…"

"That's Trandosha, you wermo!" Tarkin's patience was reduced to the size of all matter in the Universe in the very last second before the Big Bang. "Will you shut up and allow _me_ to choose planets?"

"But my did no wrong this time! Trandosha beautiful! Trandoshians spake mooie funny!"

That was obviously a no, or so Tarkin determined. He furiously pulled the cucumber wraps out of his ears and stuck them into his mouth.

"I have no time for this. Please excuse me. I am procrastinating my hair!" He turned around, his hands behind his narrow back and closed the blast doors. "I will be procrastinating it for the next couple of millennia! Mmm...earwax!"

McCool, Binks and Piett shrugged and shook their heads, prompting one of Piett's hair extensions to fall off. Binks' tongue immediately stretched out and the Gungan ate what he firmly believed was pastry from day one. Tarkin really, really needed to be kinder to them. Seriously, by now he should have gotten over the whole business with that Death Star blowing up and Darth Vader being sent to his death in the cold vacuum of space. Instead of it, he's been doing this every other week, throwing angry tantrums. About the time he stopped!

After all, they had been playing this "Empire" game for two decades now.


End file.
